


Caught In The Rain

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: 5+1 Things, Andrew is so gay, Fluff, M/M, Neil is a Little Shit, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-05 22:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: Five times Andrew and Neil get caught in the rain, and one time they stay home in the first place.





	Caught In The Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luvanderwon (missbysshe)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=luvanderwon+%28missbysshe%29).



> The last part got unexpectedly explicit... sorry not sorry. Written for my girl Janie because she gave me the prompt "rainy days + OTP of your choice".
> 
> I can't think of any warnings for this fic, other than a very brief mention of someone throwing up in the third part and Neil singing silly pop songs because he's a menace.
> 
> Thank you Lio for the very kind beta ;)

**1**

“Come on, in here,” Neil says, tugging on Andrew's hand. The flimsy material of his shorts is already plastered to his thighs and his hair is mess. Andrew stumbles after him, their steps echoing in the cavernous space, an intrusion and a warning, but the church is empty; rows upon rows of empty chairs and silent prayers. When he inhales Andrew tastes mildew and cold frankincense in the back of his mouth.

Neil shakes the water from his head like a dog, unconcerned that they have entered a sacred space. He looks back at Andrew and grins, links their hands again and starts walking between the chairs. The hiss of the rain melts away to a distant buzz.

“Mom and I sometimes hid in churches,” Neil says, not bothering to lower his voice. Andrew thinks of foster homes and Sunday mass, of mouthing along to hymns and the Bible bound in white leather that Luther gave him after Tilda's death.

“Once I stole some wine because we needed an anaesthetic,” Neil is saying, drumming his wet fingers on the backs of chairs as he passes them, tilting them ever-so-slightly out of alignment. “It tasted like shit and didn't do anything for the pain.”

“What was the anaesthetic for?” Andrew asks and discreetly nudges the chairs back into their places. Neil stops, looks around, then climbs on top of one and tilts his head back to gaze at the murals on the ceiling.

“Stab wound,” he murmurs, “needed stitches.”

The yellow blazer he wears is creased and crinkled because Neil refuses to iron his clothes. His hands twist in the nylon of his shorts. There is a small scar on his left knee and another one that runs down his right calf. Andrew reaches out a hand before he can stop himself, tracing them, and feels smug when Neil shivers under his touch.

He doesn't notice the sun coming out until Neil is bathed in it. The coloured glass windows come ablaze, smouldering copper-green and gold; the light gleams off the buttons on Neil's shirt and curls up cat-like in the nest of his hair. Standing on a chair in the middle of the deserted church Neil looks like something holy yet profane, and Andrew wants to pull him down and desecrate him – or maybe that should be worship.

“The rain stopped,” Neil says, smiling, and Andrew lets him use his shoulder as leverage when he jumps down.

_Back on the ground with the sinners_ , Andrew thinks and says: “Let's go.”

 

**2**

“Andrew,” Neil says.

The rain is torrential. If he's honest Andrew can barely see out of the front window even with the wipers on full speed, the road nothing but a grey, indistinct blur amid absent-minded daubs of green and light grey. Stubbornly, he keeps driving for another couple of minutes until Neil says “Andrew” again in that tone of voice that means he's either going to kiss him or kill him in a second and Andrew huffs and pulls over.

The noise is deafening now that the roar of the engine cuts off. They sit in silence for a moment, Andrew drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Neil bouncing his leg. Another car creeps by, cowed by the onslaught, and Andrew watches it blend into the landscape with narrowed eyes.

“I'm sure it'll ease up soon,” Neil offers, tapping out some chewing gum from a squashed packet in the glove compartment. He offers it to Andrew but it's the sharp minty kind that Andrew doesn't like.

“Gross,” Andrew informs him.

“And yet you still kiss me even when I taste like that,” Neil smirks, chewing with an obnoxious open mouth, his lips red and shiny-wet in the dim afternoon light. A truck crawls past and the car shudders around them. Neil undoes his seatbelt, pulls one leg up on the seat and loops his arm around it, his forehead tipped against the window. His breath sprawls white and damp on the glass.

Andrew says nothing.

Of course – because Neil _had_ to jinx it – the rain doesn't ease up at all. They sit in the car for an hour, watching the downpour and using up oxygen, Andrew's feet up on the dashboard and Neil slumped against the window. From time to time Neil fiddles with the radio but any signal is eaten up by static.

“I hate you,” Andrew tells him.

Neil, never one to back down from a challenge, opens the passenger door to spit his chewing gum into the grass. When he pulls his head back inside half of his face is dripping.

“There,” he says smugly, “now you can stop sulking and kiss me instead.”

Briefly Andrew considers saying no just to wipe that grin off his face but he's bored and it's still pouring, and at least if they're kissing Neil will stop making words.

 

**3**

It's two in the morning and they're stuck in a shitty diner with Kevin – drunk and feeling sorry for himself –, Aaron – also drunk, also feeling sorry for himself – and Nicky – even more drunk, even more sorry for himself.

“Why do I feel like a chaperone?” Neil mutters, pushing plates of fries at the sorry soggy trio. Kevin moans something about kale, Aaron empties half of a mayonnaise bottle on the side of his plate and Nicky holds up a single slightly burnt fry and stares mournfully at it for several minutes, sighing from time to time.

It's raining buckets and doesn't look like it's going to stop any time soon.

“This is depressing as fuck. I want ice-cream,” Andrew says.

“What about your fries?” Neil asks as he steals one from Andrew's plate even though he has his own. Andrew steals two back in revenge.

“Ice-cream,” he insists. “Chocolate.”

Neil rolls his eyes but stands up and trudges back to the counter to get him a cup of chocolate ice-cream anyway. It's low on both chocolate and quality and Andrew takes the whole thing and dumps it on top of his fries. The taste is only marginally improved but he's hungry and he wants ice-cream, and Neil is watching him with his nose scrunched up and his mouth slightly open and doesn't notice that Aaron is eating his fries now that he's compromised his own plate with mayonnaise.

“Try,” Andrew challenges, holding out a fry dipped in chocolate ice-cream.

“You're disgusting,” Neil tells him and eats it anyway – wrapping his lips around Andrew's fingers in the process and sucking once, hard.

“Who's disgusting now?” Andrew asks dryly.

Neil smirks.

Nicky sighs again.

Aaron falls asleep with his forehead in the mayonnaise.

Slowly, apologetically, Kevin leans over the side of the booth and throws up.

 

**4**

“Remind me never to go running with you again,” Andrew pants, one hand braced on the wall of the bus stop they are sheltering under for the time being. It's useless; they're both already drenched to their underwear and Andrew rather suspects Neil is trying to give him a break, but at the same time he does need a break and isn't very keen on making a spectacle of himself by passing out in a puddle by the road.

“Aw, babe,” Neil croons, bright orange jacket hanging limply off his frame. “You can kick my ass in the gym again tomorrow as payback.”

“At least the fucking gym is dry,” Andrew grumbles. A bus pulls up, spraying the sidewalk with rainwater; people get off, cursing and fumbling with their umbrellas, and Neil and Andrew stick to the back of the bus stop until they've all dispersed again.

“We'll take a shower when we get back,” Neil promises. A drop of water rolls over the swell of his bottom lip and away down his chin. Andrew follows it with his thumb, then he hooks two fingers into the collar of Neil's awful jacket and pulls until he leans into his space with a grin.

“Together?” Andrew grunts.

“Mm,” Neil hums, “if you want.”

Andrew pushes their mouths together, wet and warm and messy, and sucks Neil's bottom lip between his teeth. He feels more than hears Neil sigh in response.

“Fuck the rain,” Andrew murmurs against Neil's mouth, “let's go.”

 

**5**

Andrew should have known better.

He should have known better than to agree to go fucking _hiking_ with Nicky and his obnoxiously outdoorsy boyfriend, should have declined the moment Neil said he would join; should have run for the proverbial hills – or the opposite thereof, in this case – when Kevin signed up for the venture as well. Now they're in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, soaked to their underwear with nothing but Kevin's ten million green detox smoothies and Neil's disgusting protein bars for sustenance, and if that wasn't enough Neil's gone and twisted his ankle just to live up to his reputation as resident disaster child.

“It wasn't _supposed_ to rain,” Nicky whines for the third time, sheltering under Erik's raincoat. Erik looks at him fondly and tugs the hood further down over his face.

“That's nature, babe,” he grins. “Unpredictable, glorious, wild nature.”

Nicky tries and fails to quell his disgusted look.

“We might as well finish,” Kevin says, “it's almost as far to turn back as it is to go on at this point.”

Andrew inwardly curses them all and adjusts Neil's weight on his back. Neil squirms, nuzzling the side of his face, and trails his wet mouth under his ear.

“Okay?” he murmurs, hot breath creeping down Andrew's neck and making him shiver against his will. Andrew knows that Neil is about to say something stupid again about how he's _fine_ and perfectly able to walk on his own, so he shoots him a dark glare over his shoulder to shut him up.

They continue down the trail, Nicky chattering away at Erik and fantasising loudly about hot chocolate and fireplaces and bubble baths while Kevin tromps ahead, stoically silent as usual. Neil starts humming after a while, quietly at first, then snatches of song lyrics burst out in places, replaced by humming again whenever Neil can't remember the next words. Andrew is so distracted by Neil's voice in his ear that he doesn't notice Nicky falling silent. Neil segues seamlessly between songs, a messy medley of mindless pop songs that Andrew half recognises from the radio and a few French and German ones that for all Andrew knows might have been made up on the spot. They all seem to have something to do with rain.

Neil is crooning sloppy German into Andrew's neck when Erik stops in his tracks in sudden recognition and cracks up so hard he has to lean on Nicky's shoulder. Nicky, too, seems to know the song and is stifling his laughter behind a clumsy hand.

“ _[Sag mal weinst duuuu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNzyktrWSWM)oder ist das der Reeegen_ ,” Neil sings passionately, only spurred on by their antics, and Kevin turns around with a frown on his face and calls out for them to hurry the fuck up. Andrew is tempted to leave Neil behind in a ditch but Neil pushes his cold nose into Andrew's neck again and goes back to crooning, his rough voice softened and shivering like something left out in the rain for too long.

“I hate you,” Andrew bites out and overtakes Erik and Nicky who are having a moment about something called [Junimond](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9FR08QFqOw).

“ _[The tide is high](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8CMsQ-p1ls) but I'm holding on_ , _”_ Neil sings in reply, smoothly changing songs again. “ _I'm gonna be your number one, I'm not the kinda girl who gives up just like that_...”

Andrew doesn't deign to reply. He plans to drown Neil in the nearest kale smoothie the moment he catches up with Kevin, so he can sing whatever he wants for all Andrew cares.

 

**+1**

Neil is bored.

It is very obvious when Neil is bored. For someone who has spent half his life in transit he is remarkably bad at handling long stretches of inactivity and being cooped up inside. Andrew is tempted to say something distasteful about how it is no wonder his mother got herself killed after having to endure his antics for so long – the finger-tapping, leg-bouncing, foot-shuffling, face-pulling; the never-ending staring and the tiny irritated _noises_.

They've been stuck inside Andrew's apartment for all of half an hour, Andrew unwilling to leave the house when the rain is coming down so hard you can barely see out the window, and Neil is slowly going out of his mind.

Andrew watches as Neil carefully stacks another clementine on King's front paws. She's lying on the kitchen table, her tail swishing over the top of Andrew's newspaper as he fills in the crossword, but she has always been strangely tolerant of Neil's weirdnesses. Contrary to popular opinion Andrew doesn't _hate_ fruit – he usually has some bananas lying around and a bag or two of frozen berries in the freezer, but the clementines he admittedly bought in preparation for Neil's visit and it irks him that they are being misappropriated like this.

Andrew sighs, scribbles _nuisance_ in the last remaining squares of his crossword and puts down the pen.

“Get up.”

It's embarrassing how eager Neil is to comply. Andrew leads him into his bedroom, not prepared to admit that the sound of Neil's hasty footsteps behind him does all sorts of indelicate things to the lining of his stomach. Neil almost trips over himself when Andrew crowds him up against the door and his hands hover just above Andrew's shoulders until Andrew grabs them and places them on top of his shirt.

“Mmyes,” Neil says before Andrew even draws breath to ask, pulling him in. Andrew kisses him languidly, all open mouth and continuously on the verge of _not close enough_ , enjoying the strain in Neil's neck as he gives chase. Rain and wind throw their combined fury at the windows, raindrops glancing off the glass like pebbles. Inside, snug and safe, Andrew leads Neil over to the bed by his wrist and pushes him down.

Stripping Neil out of his loose Sunday clothes is easy. Everything about Neil is easy; from the sigh that rolls through his chest like a wave when Andrew refreshes the trail of lovebites down his collarbone to the arch of his spine when Andrew rocks against his naked body still fully-clothed. Andrew hates him for that easiness, hates the way it pulls something in his stomach taut like the air before a summer storm. He settles between Neil's legs – opening up to accommodate him, _easy_ – and kisses and bites and suckles at the insides of his thighs until they're pink and raw.

“Andrew,” Neil urges, hands twisting in Andrew's hair. For a moment Andrew wishes he would _pull_.

“Neil,” Andrew mocks like they're just exchanging names. Neil's hips writhe under his hands, presenting a convincing argument, and Andrew takes his pretty pink cock in his mouth so he can elaborate on that.

“Hngh,” is all Neil has to say to that. He doesn't buck, doesn't tighten his hands; but the way he breathes in and out like he has to remind himself how to do it is proof that he's losing his mind right there under Andrew's mouth and hands.

Andrew laps his tongue over the head of his cock and tastes salt. He slips off, cool air making his hot mouth tingle, and looks at the messy slick of spit and precome he leaves behind, thinking _fuck_.

He says “Neil, can I” and doesn't get to finish the question because Neil smears his “yes, god, yes, Andrew, fuck” right through the carefully arranged words.

“You don't even know what you're agreeing to,” Andrew growls, unimpressed, and Neil whines and tugs gently on a strand of Andrew's hair.

“I like it when you like things,” he mutters. “Whatever it is, I know you won't hurt me.”

“I want to finger you,” Andrew says calmly. And, oh – Neil's skin suddenly blooms in the hot spill of a full-body blush, the kind Andrew sometimes _imagines_ but hasn't ever seen in its entirety before, and he needs a moment to appreciate the sweet beauty of it, kissing along the soft crook of Neil's thigh.

“Yes,” Neil slurs, “fuck yes.”

They haven't done that before. They've talked about it – or around it, rather; but with enough eloquence between the two of them that Andrew is aware of Neil wanting it and wanting to try it himself as well. It's actually Neil who bought the lube that Andrew now fishes out of his bedside drawer. He brought it with him last time he came here, in an inconspicuous plastic bag with a box of condoms (not novel anymore, not since Andrew first let Neil put his mouth on him in return), a spare toothbrush, some arnica gel and a pot of fancy concealer recommended by Allison for the days when he doesn't want to show off his scars in public. Just normal things. No big deal.

Andrew marvels a bit at the cheeky foresight now as he uncaps the lube and licks a wet path up Neil's flushed cock, making him shudder as he swallows him down again. Detachedly he notices that his own hands are shaking as he squeezes out what is probably more lube than necessary onto his fingers and presses one down over Neil's tight hole.

“Andrew,” Neil gasps. Andrew sucks hard on the head of his cock in response and Neil lets out a low moan, the muscles of his stomach quivering and tense under Andrew's palm. Andrew pushes a finger in and is surprised at how easily Neil lets him in, helped along by excess lube; then he wonders if Neil has done this to himself before, in preparation of this moment, thinking of Andrew as he fucked himself on his own fingers –

He goes back to sucking Neil off because his hand is trembling too hard to really be of much help but Neil doesn't complain. After a while Andrew starts moving the one finger in time with his mouth. He doesn't think it's doing much for Neil but maybe they can – work up to more. He pulls out all the tricks his mouth has learned in juvie and with Roland and Neil moans so very prettily in response; gasps out a threadbare, broken breath once when Andrew's finger finds a potentially good angle and doesn't ask for more than that.

“Andrew, I need to, can I,” Neil hums, the words wet and obscene in the steamy-warm silence with barely a breath between them. Andrew sits back and wraps his hand around Neil's cock, giving it a few quick tugs, because he doesn't want to swallow today and also: he wants to watch.

“Come,” he says, casually finishing Neil's question, and Neil does, with Andrew's finger still buried inside him and the afterglow of that full-body flush still visible on his chest and stomach and thighs.

So easy, Andrew thinks. He shoves a hand down his own pants to finish himself off – though frankly, it doesn't take much; talk about _easy_ – while Neil still quivers and shudders around his finger as he comes down. There's a small, squelchy noise when Andrew pulls free and that is almost enough to send him over the edge, along with the hot look Neil gives him and the tiny laugh that tumbles free of his mouth at the odd sound.

“Shut up,” Andrew grunts, spilling over his hand.

“Didn't say anything,” Neil grins.

“I said shut up,” Andrew growls and gets up. He needs a shower and fresh clothes and to not be in the room right now, and maybe a cigarette and some fudge ice-cream after.

“Oh, hey, it stopped raining,” Neil says cheerfully as he flails himself upright in the ruins of the sheets. “I might go for a run. Let me just clean up quickly before you hog the bathroom?”

Two fingers, Andrew thinks, next time he's going to use two fingers. Or maybe three, if Neil lets him.

However many it takes to keep him in Andrew's bed for the remainder of the day

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated.
> 
> This fic now has [stunning art](http://lio-zehel.tumblr.com/post/162024411655/this-is-for-the-lovely-annawrites-cuz-she-wrote) of the hiking scene by lio-zehel, check it out!!!


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